Legacy
by PallaPlease
Summary: What if Bart never became Impulse again?  After the Apokolips war (by about ten years), the world needs a new Flash.  Continuity errors much?  [On Hold]
1. Chapter I

Legacy  
  
*  
  
Summary: What if Bart never became Impulse again? After the Apokolips war (by about ten years), the world needs a new Flash and the JLA, constructed of the men and women that once made up Young Justice, has one chance to get their man - who just happens to be Bart Allen. Unfortunately, Bart has his own, average, mundane lifestyle… [My first multi-chapter epic YJ thingy. Um. Yeah. 0o]  
  
Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance  
  
Chapters: [??]  
  
Written from: November 16 to November 18, 2001 [will be finished by November 18]  
  
Request: I'd love feedback and I'd even welcome flames at this point. Please review this and tell me what you think. :]  
  
Distribution: youngjusticefanfic and www.fanfiction.net [and if anyone out there actually wants to post this piece of literary junk somewhere else, please notify me some way]  
  
*  
  
The warehouse loomed up, stretching out and up into the sky, which was ironically clear blue as the sun rose along the eastern horizon, to the building's left. There was a flicker at a window on the second story, the curtains pushed aside just for one moment before falling back into place, the grey stained cloth swaying slightly. It was more than enough for the keen eyes of the being - man or creature - watching from the shadow of a small, condemned office building across the street. Lifting a hand to the side of its jaw, a soft beeping sound signified the opening of the comm line. "He's still in there," a deep, husky voice spoke quietly and seriously, eyes glued to the window, watching the silhouette of a nervously pacing man walk back and forth, the lamp behind him clearly showing his form. A small smile twitched at the being's lips, a wryly amused movement. "I think he's beginning to get antsy."  
  
An unintelligible burst of static could be heard faintly coming from the device taped at the hinge of his jaw, which he could apparently decipher. "Tell Empress it's time for her to get inside," he ordered softly.  
  
Police officers to his right, their faces anxious and moody as they watched the same warehouse, jumped slightly as a sudden, bright cloud of cerulean smoke billowed up, tapering out just as quickly as it appeared amid the ranks. The shadow figure laughed to himself, a silent sound that none heard.   
  
The silhouette up in the window started and there was a sudden gunshot, clear and ringing loudly and frighteningly.   
  
"Shit," a new voice, soft and melodious, hissed near his shoulder. He nodded, masking his surprise. Strange how after eleven years of knowing her that she could still sneak up on him. "Things have just escalated."  
  
"You'd better go in to check on her before Lobo starts tearing the warehouse down," he said in quiet reply, waiting for her affirmative noise.  
  
A streak of tan mist darted across the street, melting through a crack in the plaster wall near ground level. High-strung minutes passed and the tall, leanly muscular figure of Lobo began to pace dangerously; even from the distance between the two, the shadow being could see the tensed, uncharacteristically worried expression on the Czarnian's face, yellow eyes narrowed. Another minute passed, followed by another. Yelling could be heard from the window and there were signs that the situation had leapt again, becoming even more volatile.   
  
Without warning, the comm link buzzed loudly.  
  
Instantly, the figure in the shadows thumbed his own comm device. "All JLA members enter the building, NOW!"  
  
He didn't wait to see how the others were going to enter the building; all he knew was what Empress had relayed to him.   
  
"The terrorist has the child pinned against him and he is threatening to shoot the boy multiple times," he said hurriedly into the comm, kicking the door in. "Empress is trying to talk to him, but she says it looks like his grip on the boy is around his neck and it is suffocating him." He scaled the staircase, knocking over ancient cardboard boxes and wheeling around the corner, finding himself in the room where he needed most to be.  
  
A window, not the one facing the street where police officers were, exploded inward as the two dramatically super-powered members appeared, both seething. There were resounding screams from an elderly woman in one of the corners, her speech garbled and desperate. From what he could distinguish, she was begging them to save her grandson.  
  
The grandson who was motionless, clutched tightly by the frenzied man. The grandson who was bleeding intensively from a bullet wound in his leg that appeared to be a day old. The grandson who might already be dead.  
  
Empress was trying to calm the man, but was unsuccessful. Her left arm hung limply by her side, a dark patch forming along her sleeve from the messy, bloody wound in her shoulder. "We need you to calm down, please," she tried, wincing painfully. Glancing over at their unanimous leader, the helpless look on her face telling him exactly what he didn't want to accept: she had lost her telekinetic control.   
  
The man looked down at the boy - he couldn't have been more than six, at the most - and dropped the child to the ground, lifting his gun and firing at Empress, grazing her thigh. With a cry of pain, she bent over, fingers brushing over the superficial gash before she looked back up. The man had the gun pointing straight at her forehead.  
  
"You tyrannical bastards," the man snarled, voice slurred and delirious sounding, "you do everything for the nation: where's the free speech?" He waved his other arm wildly, taking unsteady steps toward Empress, eyes gleaming maliciously. "Where's the democracy? Can't even let the Am-amer-american people do things on their own, can you?" He grinned cruelly.  
  
Wonderwoman landed softly next to the boy, checking his pulse as Kon-El tried to soothe the hysterical grandmother.  
  
"I'm gonna kill you, bitch," the man all but purred, three feet away from her.  
  
In the same instant, Lobo came through the entrance, swearing bloody murder at the man, Secret morphed her hands into clamps, latching onto his arms, and the cowled man threw a flare bomb at the floor, igniting the room with brilliant light. A final bullet was launched erratically and it catapulted itself harmlessly into the wall, tiny cracks spreading out like a thin spiderweb out from the hole. As the light faded, he could see Secret's vacant face, her dangerously flickering eyes revealing more than anyone needed to know. The man began screaming horribly, his eyes focused on something no one else could see, his limbs twitching futilely and spittle trickling down between his lips, trailing down his stubble-covered jaw.  
  
"You okay, 'Nita?" Lobo was saying, checking the wound before she could answer. She flinched against her will and braved a false smile, mask obscuring the motion.  
  
"He isn't breathing!" Wonderwoman suddenly cried, the blonde woman's face contorted in a shocked expression.  
  
"Kon, get the boy to the hospital," the shadow man finally said, "Wondergirl, you evacuate the other hostages." He looked over at Secret, who was holding the unconscious man in her arms, face cruelly emotionless. "Secret, take the man to the authorities outside. Lobo--" He paused, then shook his head. "Help Empress get back to HQ; Healer will help her."  
  
"And you?" Empress gritted out.  
  
Tim Drake, the Batman, smiled grimly. "I'm going to make this man's life a living hell."  
  
  
  
~I~  
  
The thick aroma of brewing coffee was wafted into the bedroom by the currents created by the humming air conditioning system, and the unidentifiable lump of blankets curled up in the center of the bed stirred and shifted, stretching tiredly. A shaggy mop of auburn-hair popped into view, followed by the head and shoulders of the man in the bed. Bart yawned and stretched again, rotating his shoulders and wincing slightly at the hollow pops. Threading a hand through his hair, he levered himself up into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and muffling another yawn. "Sleepy," he muttered to himself, slowly standing up and running his hand over his face, amber eyes half-lidded. "Why did this seem like a better idea last night?" The clock by his bed flipped another minute by, changing the time to 5:13 AM.   
  
Shuffling across the carpet to the kitchen, he fumbled with the light switch, finally managing to flick it on. Briefly blinded by the glare of unexpected fluorescent light rebounding off linoleum tiling into his eyes, he blinked rapidly, standing in the doorway until his eyes managed to adjust. By then, he had stumbled into the kitchen, banging his hip against the countertop as he made his way over to the pre-timed coffee-machine. Fishing the plastic container out from the machine, he set it on the stove burner and flicked the machine off carelessly, grabbing a mug from beside the sink, disregarding whether he had cleaned it the night before or not. It was while he was pouring the coffee into his mug and wondering why finishing the report for his supervisor was important enough to warrant pre-dawn awakening when the phone suddenly began belting out the ceaselessly annoying 'brrrings' that made it a hated being in his Manchester house.   
  
Glowering at the device, he wished a plague on whoever was calling him even as he peeled the phone off a puddle of near-petrified maple syrup by the stack of dishes. Clicking it on, he held it to his ear and, sighing, asked the time-old question: "Who is this?"  
  
"Happy birthday toooo yoooou!" sang Preston's voice, jumbled by both static and the obvious fact that he was not a natural soprano. "Hey, 's Preston, Bart. You awake?"  
  
"What do you think?" Bart grouched sarcastically, downing half his mug of coffee, miraculously without choking. "When did you get up to plan this wonderful conversation?"  
  
"One, I never went to bed," Preston said cheerfully, "and two, you definitely need to go back to sleep. You sound like a lawn mower ran through your throat, Mr. Sun-is-shining."  
  
"And I feel like a cat slept in my mouth," Bart continued, not missing a beat. "And the sun isn't up, much less shining."  
  
Preston laughed. "Whatever. Anyway, I know you must have some terrific purpose for being awake at the ungodly hour, but I think you should check out what's on Channel 5 News."  
  
"Fine," Bart sighed. "You done now?"  
  
"Mmmm," Preston fell silent for a moment. "Yup. See ya later!"  
  
There was a click, followed by the unwavering dial tone. Thumbing the phone off, Bart dropped it back onto the counter, wandering back into the living room and turning the television on. Flopping down onto the sofa, resting his head on the arm, legs dangling off the edge, he stared blankly at the screen.  
  
"The hostage situation near Gotham Bay was defused earlier this morning with tragic consequences. Five-year old Jonathon Harton, grandson of Mayor Sebastian Harton, died of complications during respiratory surgery in the emergency room mere minutes after he was flown in by the JLA's Superman. If he had been rescued and brought in quicker, there would have been a much higher chance that he survived. The man responsible for the act had been holing up in the warehouse for almost a week, keeping the fifteen hostages captive until the JLA was able to return from the most recent conflict with Apokolips. Who knows how the situation would have gone if there had been a Flash around to help…"  
  
*  
  
[to be continued] 


	2. Chapter II

Legacy  
  
*  
  
Summary: What if Bart never became Impulse again? After the Apokolips war (by about ten years), the world needs a new Flash and the JLA, constructed of the men and women that once made up Young Justice, has one chance to get their man - who just happens to be Bart Allen. Unfortunately, Bart has his own, average, mundane lifestyle… [My first multi-chapter epic YJ thingy. Um. Yeah. 0o]  
  
Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance  
  
Chapters:   
  
Written from: November 16 to November 18, 2001  
  
Request: I'd love feedback and I'd even welcome flames at this point. Please review this and tell me what you think. :]  
  
Distribution: youngjusticefanfic and www.fanfiction.net [and if anyone out there actually wants to post this piece of literary junk somewhere else, please notify me some way]  
  
*  
  
~II~  
  
Sometime around noon, the anesthetic wore off and Anita Fite was rudely, abruptly jolted out of a drug-induced dream that was incredibly strange and suddenly hard to remember. Blinking her eyes bewilderedly, feeling disoriented and more than a little foggy in her mind, she moved to feel her forehead with her left hand, and immediately regretted it. Gasping, she froze all muscles along her left arm and shoulder, gently easing herself back down onto the propped-up bed. Bits and pieces of a recent, half-blocked memory cluttered haphazardly throughout her mind in no particular order. Predominant, however, was the basic instinct that she had failed at something that meant a great deal to the overwhelming maternal side of her. Funny, though, that she couldn't remember what it was.  
  
"In case you haven't figured it out yet," a wry female voice came from the med-bay's doorway, "you shouldn't move your left arm any. If you do, a very painful message will be relayed by your nervous system straight to your brain." Cissie grinned from her position of leaning against the doorframe, thick blonde braid hovering somewhere between her shoulder blades and her hips in length. "But I think you've noticed that." The green cloth of her outfit hung loosely around her body, the long-sleeved one-piece covering all skin up to her chin and down to her knees: a far cry from the brilliant red-and-white miniskirt-combo she had worn as Arrowette, years ago. A thin white 'H' encircled by a scarlet hoop was emblazoned at her collarbone, and once more on the belt hooked around her waist.   
  
"So, what's the verdict, 'Healer?'" Anita smiled wanly, wincing involuntarily as weaseling stab of pain jerked up her arm.   
  
"Well," Cissie became dead serious, "it wasn't an incredibly dangerous wound. Messy, painful, yes; dangerous, life-changing, no. You're lucky it didn't strike the bone: that would have been a whole different ball game. On a lighter note, if your Czarnian boytoy tries to come in here one more time, I'm going to start doing things I know I'm going to regret." She paused thoughtfully. "Like discharging you prematurely and swearing never to speak with you ever again."  
  
"Lobo tried to come in?" Anita tilted her head to one side, thick bronze-brown curls tumbling precariously over her shoulders out of the loosely-constructed bun someone had put to keep her hair out of the way.  
  
"How much anesthesia did I give you?" Cissie muttered to herself, turning to leave. "Lobo wants to see you, by the way," she said a bit louder. As she left, she muttered, "Guy almost blows the damn door down and she asks, 'Lobo tried to come in?' For the love of all I hold holy…"  
  
  
  
  
  
Susan Hollidae, a shy young woman with a delicate figure and silken wheat-colored hair, nervously approached the crying woman sitting outside the sterile hospital room, tears dripping continuously, silently, between her fingers. "Ma'am," Susan began cautiously, "what is wrong?"  
  
The woman looked up, eyes anguished and searing with unhealed pain. "Haven't you been watching the news?" she all but hissed, grief tearing away any inbred politeness. "My baby boy just died."  
  
Susan fell silent, crouching before the woman. "What was his name?" she asked gently, azure eyes blazing with a coaxing power.  
  
"Jo-Jonathon," the woman stuttered, fresh tears rising to cover her dark brown eyes. "He was only five," she continued, fingers clawing desperately at the cloth of her wrinkled skirt. "My poor, poor baby boy…"  
  
Sucking in a breath, Susan prayed to whatever deity was listening. Prayed that what she was doing was right. "Let me show you something…"  
  
  
  
  
  
"Screw the media," Kon snarled, crossing his bulky arms over his chest in a self-hating rage. "What do they know? Even if we had gotten the kid to the hospital in time, would he still have lived?" He quieted as soon as the words left his mouth, startling blue eyes fixed on the broad table he and the others were seated at. Wonderwoman, Cassie, reached out, grasping his fisted hand gently and squeezing it comfortingly.   
  
Cissie tightened her lips, drawing them into thin, taut white lines. "It might have been possible. We'll never know, will we? It was a situation that got out of hand and it might have been easier if a speedster had been here." The tense air loosened a fraction. "Unfortunately, Wally and Barry are both in retirement and Max Mercury is heaven-knows-where in time. And," she broke off, lapsing into silence, blue eyes downcast.  
  
"And Bart has long since removed himself from the superhero world," Anita finished, absently rubbing at an itch along her left arm. "Which leads us back to the beginning: do we or do we not need to try and bring Bart back as the next Flash?"  
  
Glances were shared, thoughts speeding through their minds and vanishing just as swiftly.  
  
"I for one think we should respect Bart's decision," came the rough voice of Batman, his mask removed and piled in a small lump of black cloth over the bat emblem of his spot around the JLA table. "He has found a place for himself. A place in the world as a person, and not an impulse."  
  
"Bart can do what he wants," Lobo shrugged. "Not that it matters what th' Main Man thinks: I ain't one of ya JL whatevers."  
  
"I agree with Lobo," Anita spoke decisively. "About Bart doing what he wants to. By now he has own life. We shouldn't ruin that because we don't have confidence in ourselves."  
  
"Yes," Superman said shortly. "We could use a Flash."  
  
Wonderwoman elbowed him in the rib cage with a sweet smile. "What he means is he misses Bart. And we do need a Flash or a speedster of some sort."  
  
"I side with Kon and Cassie," a soft voice, exotic and eerily beautiful, said almost regretfully. She smiled at Batman, a sort of 'sorry, it's my opinion' smile. There was something else on her pretty face that he could see. Something they'd need to discuss at a later time.  
  
Cissie, Healer, was playing with the hood of her green outfit, gnawing nervously on her lower lip. She was more than aware that she would cast the tie-breaking vote. It wasn't a pressure she wanted. "Well," she began, hesitating, dropping her hands into her lap. "I think…"  
  
  
--  
  
  
"Um, Mis'er Allen," a shy, small voice piped up, a chubby little hand tugging on his brown slacks, "I made a pict-er for you."  
  
Bart turned away from the board, crouching down on his toes. He gave the child in front of him a smile and, with a nod from the little girl, accepted the crinkling piece of paper. Bright colors were messily combined to form a fish-shape, the paint thicker in some places and thinner in others: the cost of finger-painting. "It's lovely, Erica," he told her, tone almost reverent. "Would you like me to put it on the blackboard?" Erica nodded fervently, face bright and upturned, black hair bouncing around her brown face as she moved her head excitedly. "Okay, then." He stood up, unfolding himself to his full six-foot-something height, holding his far larger hand out for Erica. She beamed and grabbed it happily, skipping alongside his walking.   
  
"Now, where do you want to put it?" he asked gently, strands of his auburn hair falling across his amber eyes. A light breeze, coming from an open window, brushed his red sweater and tousled Erica's dark hair.  
  
"Ummmm," she scrunched her nose up in thought, eyes fixated on the blackboard half-covered with drawings and paintings the kindergarten class had done. Switching her weight from one foot to the next, she jabbed a finger at an empty space over Bart's shoulder. "There!" she declared with all the regality of a young queen. And then she returned to just being a four-year old girl. "P'ease?"  
  
Bart scooped her up, off the floor, somehow managing to hold her up in one arm and grab the tape off his desk with the free one. Erica squealed in delight, and, accepting the tape, she carefully tore off two pieces of the adhesive, taping her painting to the blackboard herself. With a faux-critical air, the young teacher made a show of studying the position, finally saying: "It's perfect."  
  
Erica clapped gleefully and laughed as he set her down, back on the floor. Instantly, the rest of the small kindergarten class was clamoring for a 'ride.'  
  
"You!" And with that said, Bart grabbed a tiny boy, Tony, and swung him up. "One trip around the room?" he questioned little Tony and the boy grinned in answer. "Hold on!"  
  
*  
  
[Mmm-hmm. Okay, this is what we who are too lazy to write long chapters call "filler chapters." Um. Yeah. Anyway, we now know that, one, Anita has blocked out the whole little-boy-dying thing from her mind {that might be important in future chapters} and, two, Bart is a kindergarten teacher. I'll be revising Chapter I soon. Ja ne!]  
  
[oh, yeah, and: to be continued] 


	3. Chapter III

Legacy  
  
*  
  
Summary: What if Bart never became Impulse again? After the Apokolips war (by about ten years), the world needs a new Flash and the JLA, constructed of the men and women that once made up Young Justice, has one chance to get their man - who just happens to be Bart Allen. Unfortunately, Bart has his own, average, mundane lifestyle… [My first multi-chapter epic YJ thingy. Um. Yeah. 0o]  
  
Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance  
  
Chapters: ???  
  
Written from: November 16 to November 18, 2001  
  
Request: I'd love feedback and I'd even welcome flames at this point. Please review this and tell me what you think. :]  
  
Distribution: youngjusticefanfic and www.fanfiction.net [and if anyone out there actually wants to post this piece of literary junk somewhere else, please notify me some way]  
  
Message Type Thingy: Help me…my brain hurts…y'know, I think Raena-san has it easy. Her Muses HELP her write fanfics. Mine don't. (Ryan [the red-haired, black-winged Russian fairy] is both my antagonist in life and my alternate personality [yes, Ryan is a guy. Yes, I am a girl. No, don't ask.]. Chibi-Kurt and Chibi-Spyke, though kawaii and loveable, spend most of their time questing for Chibi-Kitty and Chibi-Jean or playing card games. And then there's the aLiEn tiGEr. He's sweet =.^= and fluffy - so he inspires my WAFF fics. Not that anyone cares. …) Oh, and if Raena-san is reading this…PLEASE write more on Darkness: Aingeal Plumach. [I spelled it right! Yay for me!]  
  
*  
  
~III~  
  
Susan Hollidae, also known as the Secret or simply as Suzy, crossed her legs in front of her and hummed a soft song to herself. Lyrics were forgotten in the haze of past years, half-words floating around in her mind; the music alone had remained ingrained on her memory, unforgettable and everlasting. Staring out the wide glass windows of the Watchtower, she tilted her head to one side, long blonde hair whispering and shushing as it fell along her back. Stars glittered iridescently in the thick black velvet of space, Earth's milky-blue marble surface shimmering up at her. She knew the others were gone by now: Kon and Cassie off to do whatever it was that parents of a two-year old did; Lobo and the Supercycle god-knows-where in the vast emptiness of space; Anita off to calm her father down ("Really, Daddy," Suzy could just imagine her saying, "it wasn't a deep gun wound."). And Cissie, back to Earth, faced with the mundane task of tracking down Bart. Which, of course, left Suzy in the JLA Watchtower with a brooding Timothy Drake, who was acting more Batman-ish now than she would have liked.  
  
Switching back into her mist mode, her outline blurred and turned foggy, the colors of her outfit fading into a blurry tan shade. Thin wisps of smoke trickled off of her arms, neck, hair - virtually every part of her, only to be wiped away like a clean slate, out of the air. Footsteps, instead of being sharp and defined, were dulled and softened, the heels of her boots striking the metal floor gently. She was no longer as comfortable being a mist-constructed being as she was when she was 'solid,' but it was her turn to check the Watchtower's exterior for any possible alien parasites and/or damages done to the shield.   
  
The decompression chamber hissed open for her, the thick doors locking shut tightly behind her. The frontal doors, the ones opening out to space, opened slowly, revealing tantalizing bits of space to her blue eyes, the view widening as the doors opened fully with a groaning sigh. Mild irritation flaked at her as the vacuum tugged insistently at her and, pulling back a little against the tugging, she carefully walked down, pushing off, out of the chamber. The outer hull's doors remained open, and would so stay until the time she came back in. Clutching the metal devices she was to carry with her in temporarily solid hands, she trailed along the hull, holding one of the objects along it. Scanners beeped and whirled, data quickly filing across the tiny screen. "So far, so good," she muttered to herself, eyes flickering along the enormous windows rimming the Watchtower.   
  
There.  
  
Timothy was typing furiously away at a computer console, his black mask crumpled up beside the keyboard. Black hair fell haphazardly in front of his dark blue eyes and he pushed it out of his way absently, continuing with his chore. A smile brightened Suzy's face and she paused in her activities, grasping the other one of the two metal boxes she was carrying, floating up to the window closest to him. He was a good ten feet away from the window, and his attention was focused entirely on whatever the computer was feeding to him, so she decided against rapping her hand against the window. Instead, she flipped the second box on, holding it to her cheek, near both her ear and her mouth.  
  
"Dark and silent, can you hear me?" she teased and, judging by his uncustomary startled expression, the communication system had worked. He turned his head around, the thin black headset he was wearing revealing -how- he had heard, and he smiled a tiny, crooked smile. "Good." As he turned back to the computer, she resumed her chore, skimming through the data. "You mentioned something after the meeting, about us needing to talk. What is bothering you?"  
  
"It isn't very important," he conceded, eyes glued to the computer screen, voice made hazy by the distance, the metal, and the fact that she needed to hold her end of the communication tightly to her face with a blocking hand in order to hear at all. "I was simply wondering where you were for the first ten minutes of the meeting. You were late, you were hiding something, and you kept avoiding looking at me. Care to explain?" A lengthy silence passed, spanning several seconds or several minutes: she wasn't sure which.  
  
"I went to see Mrs. Harton," she said, finally, voice solemn and quiet. "She was at the hospital, outside the room Jonathon - the boy - died in, and she was crying more than anyone I've ever seen cry before. I took her Between, to see her son. He hadn't died too long before, so his soul hadn't completely crossed over." Timothy said nothing in the brief pause; he knew that this was personal, now, to her, and he could never truly understand the complexities of the Abyss, or Between, or whatever it was that she was connected to. "She was so happy. It was like an hour passed there, but it was only a second in time, and I didn't care. She…he…they…God, I wish I could have brought him back." A hum of static shuddered through the line and he heard her sigh. "When I brought Mrs. Harton out from Between, she looked at me and asked me who I was. So…I told her. She started crying again and she told me…" Suzy swallowed, eyes stinging painfully. "She told me that he idolized the JLA. That he wanted to be like you - he wanted, more than anything, to be Robin. And that he thought I was 'cool' and that the JLA, in general, was 'the absolute best!'"  
  
Silence.  
  
"I'm sorry." She closed the line, and there was a clicking sound as the communication line in the Watchtower closed.   
  
He sent a prayer up to God, murmuring softly, and waited until he knew Suzy had entered the Watchtower once more before he started working again. It was comforting, knowing he wasn't alone.  
  
  
  
  
  
The sun was setting in Manchester, Alabama, sinking below the horizon amidst a brilliant show of fiery hues, turning the sky into a melting rainbow. The scent of someone's freshly-mowed yard drifted lazily through the air, mixing with the bolder smell of tangy smoke drifting up, out of a brick fireplace. For a moment, Bart entertained himself with the thought of how shocked Max would have been ten years ago, if the former Impulse had actually slowed down and paid attention to the details. As grown-up and calm as he was now, a grin spread across his face just imagining the look on Max's face. The one that showed how much Max wanted to glue him to a chair.  
  
But, of course, that had been ten years ago, and Max had been missing for four years now. He had time-hopped again, as far as Bart knew, and there was a faint hope, every morning, that the older man would return. Or however it would be.  
  
Shaking his head, running a hand through his tangled auburn hair, he turned around, unconsciously vibrating through the wooden back door into the main hallway, and directed himself toward the kitchen. The smell of butter-saturated popcorn drifted cheerily from the squat microwave as the annoying, steady beep-beep-beep of it alerting him that it was done cooking thrummed out. He punched the 'open' button and, reluctantly, the microwave door swung open slowly.   
  
Five minutes later found him sprawled across the beaten, soft sofa, grading papers in his lap while trying not to get any buttery grease on the kindergarteners' homework. Licking his finger absently, he studied another drawing and immediately identified it as a dog chewing on a bone. "I've been teaching kindergarten too long," he murmured with a smile. "I'm getting way too good at figuring out stick pictures."   
  
It was hard to give anyone a low grade, even after three years of teaching, so it was relieving that neither his afternoon, nor his morning class had problems with the work. Otherwise, he was a bit afraid that he'd let a child graduate to the first grade when he or she should stay behind. Besides, it was difficult for a kindergartener to get held back. Stick figures were the norm.  
  
It took him around five minutes to finish grading. As much as he didn't use his speed anymore by choice after the encounter on Apokolips, he still fudged a little. Just a little. Enough so that he wouldn't miss his beloved cartoons - after all, one is never too old to indulge in Animaniacs and Looney Tunes.   
  
"Just another peaceful, average day," he said to himself with a satisfied smile, stacking the graded papers on the coffee table and tossing the empty bag of popcorn into a trashcan by the television set.   
  
And with that, he settled himself in the sofa, flicking the button on the remote to turn the TV on.   
  
*  
  
[Ooooo. Mundane-y. Right. *^.&* Okay, now it's 'pointless-notes-by-the-author-after-the-fanfic' time! First off, yes, Lobo still has the Supercycle. And he's not Slo-bo anymore - he's Lobo. (As much as I've grown oddly attached to the name Slo-bo, I just find myself handicapped writing him with that name in Legacy.) Name-wise - not physically. I -am- still a Robin/Secret fan, so that was my little indulgence up there, as well as explaining the whole 'oooo-what-did-Secret-do?' thing in the last chapter. And the Bart scene? I liked writing it. I really did - and, though I don't know why, I like Bart as a kindergarten teacher.   
  
Additional Disclaimer: Warner Bros., and thusly AOL, owns Animaniacs and Looney Tunes. Just so I don't get sued by Wakko or anything. *^0^*]  
  
[oh! to be continued] 


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